


Star-Lord is sick

by ClaraCivry (Kat_Of_Dresden)



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Concerned guardians, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt Peter, Injury, Minor Gamora/Peter Quill, Sick Character, Sickfic, Sickness, Whump, peter whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-10-26 17:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10791075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Of_Dresden/pseuds/ClaraCivry
Summary: Oneshots in which Peter is sick or injured and the team looks after him.Fluff and angst.Ep. 1 Pneumonia /  Ep 2 Torture / Ep 3 Drowning /Ep 4 Polytraumatized (a bad fall)Ep 5 Hallucinations / Ep 6 Asthma attack / Ep 7 Electrocution / Ep 8 Appendicitis / Ep 9 Poisoned / EP 10 Seizure





	1. Chapter 1

When he was with Yondu and the ravagers, he had no time, no place, no right to get sick. He was there because he was an asset, someone who could help stealing things, and his survival depended on his usefulness. If he wasn't useful they would eat him, like Yondu had said about a million times. So he avoided getting sick at all cost for most of his youth, and if it eventually happened, he simply sucked it up, like he was told to, and hoped for the best. He was allowed some off time if he was injured on a job, but nothing else. 

It was not ideal, but he knew worse lives. People who were sacrificed when they screwed up a job, or lost limbs because they hadn't been respectful enough. Comparing himself with other beings, he didn't have it so bad. He should be thankful not just that he wasn't eaten after all those years, but that he'd been fed, clothed and trained, instead of simply being used as bait or something of the sort. And he'd been with them for long than he'd been on earth, so his memories of being cared for when he was sick were faint and distorted. 

He'd got used to dealing with sickness on his own and mainly by denying it and hoping it would be go away, and he hadn't had too many problems when he'd been alone (except for that time when he almost died of some unknown alien fever, but nobody knew about that and nobody needed to know) but of course, now things were different. Peter hadn't realised that this applied to getting sick too, that he should change his normal way of handling things. He just continued as usual, he was the dashing funny hero, not some weakling who could be eaten and nobody would miss. 

It started a little stunt they pulled on a semi-frozen planet, in which they hadn't meant to end up, which meant they weren't wearing the appropriate clothing. Peter lent his jacket to Gamora, claiming that she couldn't save all their asses with her guns and swords if her arms fell off frozen, but really just worried for her. So he had only worn a thin cotton shirt, that, although it was long sleeved, wasn't enough to protect his chest from those below zero conditions. They solved the situation fairly easily, but they all got really really cold. 

Peter had started feeling a bit bad then, but hadn't wanted to say anything. It had been his fault that they ended up in that planet, and he didn't want to hear any "you had it coming" or "serves you right" so he kept quiet, like he always had with these things, and hoped the unease would clear off soon. The others noticed that he was a tad more quiet than usual, but they figured he was just thinking about all that happened in the last weeks, and some of them even welcomed the change. 

But it became worse than just unease, after some days. He thought he was on the clear, and suddenly he started feeling all wrong, which made no sense, because it had been almost two weeks since the frozen planet. His throat hurt and more than it, his chest felt wrong, hurt, specially whe he breathed in. There was a little a cough that bothered him, eve if it didn't come all that often. His head hurt in a constant way and he was oh so very very tired, he felt he had energy for absolutely nothing. But he kept on being his usual self, ignoring the chills, the pounding in his head, the tightness in his chest, how unappealing food had become. 

This was when people started to worry. They could hear the coughs, no matter how much he tried to stifle them, they saw that he was paler, clumsier, had dark shadows under his eyes. The first two days they asked him if he was all right and he said that, yes, of course he was all right, and simply tried to hide everything better. Maybe a tiny little part of him kind of subconsciously believed that he didn't deserve to get taken care of, the sick time, like he'd been told most of his youth and that was why he fought it so vehemently. Who knew. For a loud mouth a-hole he could be quite complicated. 

The next morning he didn't wake up in his usual bed. Apparently, at some point he'd been moved into some all white room with an all white bed and some equipment he didn't recognise on the side and some machines hovering over him, scanning something. Shit... had he been snatched again? Kidnapped by who knew who? What had happened to the others? Where...?

"Good to see you awake." Drax's powerful voice came, as he and the others entered the mysterious room. 

"Sorry about doing it on the down low, but he figured that if we did while you're awake you would complain and maybe even try to get away, so...yeah. We did while you were you asleep. Maybe even drugged you a bit." Rocket said, not really explaining anything. 

"Where am I?"

"Medical facility. One of the best of the galaxy." Drax said. "Gamora insisted."

Gamora looked away, suddenly feeling embarrassed of her insistence and how she convinced everyone to pull that little op. You couldn't trust any of those idiots she normally saved the world with to keep a secret so Quill would know how much trouble she'd gone through to get him looked at. Not nice. 

"You really didn't need to... I...."

"You were fine?" Gamora interrupted, her frustration overriding her embarrassment. "This galaxy's-best-medics didn't seem to think so. Apparently, you caught something called pneumonia in that frozen planet. Something that infected your lungs and could have led you to stop breathing if untreated. Do you have a death wish, Peter?"

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, I know he's ill, Groot, but I am still allowed to be angry, aren't I?"

The one of those weird machines started beeping and they were ushered out of the room. Gamora felt a tiny bit bad that she'd yelled at Quill when he was still like that, but damn. That man would be the death of her, always scaring her by nearly dying. Being all that close to so many explosions, facing the most powerful enemies of the galaxy with just some basic weapons and a fight-me attitude, all of his past catching up to him... And now this. 

Gamora had noticed that there was something off with Quill since they came back from that frozen wasteland. She thought it was just him feeling bad for driving them there where they almost died of cold, but there was something else apart from that, something he wasn't saying. And then Groot commented something about Quill looking pale and she understood, but every time she brought it up, Quill denied being sick and changed the subject. 

Maybe they were imagining things, because why would he hide something like that? It made no sense, and Quill knew his body better than anyone else. But after some days of relative peace, it was clear that the Terra was getting worse. They could hear his coughs if they paid a little attention, and he seemed weaker, more tired and with less energy. And yet, he didn't say anything. She understood not wanting to show weakness, of course she did, but this was too much. It could be something serious, and he was too vulnerable, too fragile. 

They needed to do something. 

And so she concocted an elaborate ploy in which she got the ship near some good medical facilities and convince the others to get Quill there, get it over with. They weren't all that hard to convince, even if she had an entire speech prepared. They did it without many problems, and then he was left under the care of doctors, who told them how serious the situation could have been. 

And Gamora got angry, because Peter was too important to do such a thing to himself, to be so careless with his health. And not just for her (but he was very important, far more than she was willing to admit) but for all of them. He was the force that brought and kept them together. And she didn't want to imagine a world without him. (Sometimes she hated having all those feeling, and having to handle his relationship with so many people - she'd been trained a weapon, this wasn't part of her expertise) She went back to the ship, to calm down and sort out her feelings. 

Peter didn't know what to think. He hadn't thought it would get this bad (it never had before) and hadn't thought anyone cared enough to actually force him into medical care (although it was kind of sweet). He was confused and drug addled, and felt a bit guilty for making Gamora so mad. Maybe he should have said something, but it was... hard. There were many things from his time as Ravager that he couldn't just shake off. Making sure the others knew he was useful and in peak condition was one of them. But yes, things had changed. He was a Guardian of the Galaxy now. Different rules. 

He was trying to fight the fog in his head when Gamora came back, sat by his bed. He wondered how he looked, as there were no windows in that room. Probably bad. 

"How are you feeling?" Gamora asked. 

"Better." Peter said in a raspy voice, and then coughed a couple of times, which didn't help his case. 

"Why didn't you tell us anything?"

"It's stupid."

"I'm used to you being stupid." She said, and Peter smiled. "I still want to know."

"I didn't want to be eaten. I keep thinking that if I'm not useful, you will... I don't know, not eat me, but maybe throw me out? Go your own way?"

"Peter...."

"It's not a conscious thought, okay? I know it doesn't make sense ad it's not logical. I just... for a long time, I was just a kid on a tight rope and messing up had scary consequences."

"I understand that. Although I didn't mess up. But you're allowed weakness now, just like the rest of us. Please tell us ext time you're feeling bad, all right?"

She planted a small kiss on his forehead and started to leave.

"Gamora!" She turned "Thank you for caring enough to drug me and yell at me. It really means a lot."

"You really mean a lot, you idiot. Now rest and get better."

Something changed that night, a fear made smaller, and insecurity that would slowly fade. It was nice to be allowed to be sick. It was nice having people worry. 

Peter slept wonderfully that night, a faint smile on his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't exactly know who these people were, or why they had taken him, if it had something to do with Thanos, or the Ravagers or the Sovereigns or who could it be. Truth was, he had no shortage of enemies, and neither did his team mates. Maybe this went back to an enemy of Rocket's, or maybe they were the victim of one of Drax's rampages. Who knew. What Peter knew was that they were asking about team mates, ad he had no intentions of saying anything. 

No matter what they tried, no matter how much he hurt. These people wanted to know about the other Guardians for something bad, he knew, to hurt them, or worse. They obviously had no problem breaking the law, and no problem hurting people. One thing was him suffering their kind treatment, and another was subjecting his friends to it. No freaking way. He had been hurt before, he could take it. Could take whatever they threw at him. (Technically, so could the others, probably, there were no weak links in that group, but hell, they didn't deserve that)

And besides, keeping quiet was a way of self-preservation, too. While he didn't speak, they still needed him. As long as he was quiet, they couldn't kill him, and couldn't damage him so badly that he wouldn't be able to communicate what he knew, so he would still be alive for another in which he could try and find a way out, a flaw in his little cell and metal chair. There was nothing, of course, but Peter hadn't given up hope yet. 

What he didn't have much hope of was being rescued. Sure, his friends were a competent bunch who had dealt with a lot of crazy situations, but this was different. For a rescue to be successful they would have to find him before those psychos realised he wasn't going to speak and shot him in the head, which wouldn't be too long. The Guardians would probably take a while to even see he was missing, and a longer while to find clues and eventually get to him. He'd probably be long dead by the time they found him.  
But, as much as he didn't want to die, he didn't see any other alternative. He was too weakened to take on all those guys (he tried, the first day, and got some of his worst injuries in that stunt) and they were smart enough not to listen when he tried to mess with their heads. There was simply no way out, no alternative. At least he would die a noble death, protecting his friends, his partners, his family. 

He would miss them all. He wished he had spent longer with them, and regretted all the fights and all his big headedness. Regretted speaking too much and not listening enough. Wished he could have been a better friend, better pilot, better leader. Just better in general. But it was too late for that. Now all he had were the good memories of the time they spent together. 

It was those memories that kept him sane when they chained him to the metal chair and started working on him, the safe place where he went to get away from it all. But sometimes it was hard to think about anything other than the overwhelming pain. Peter had been many times in his life before, and his pain threshold was relatively high, but these people, whoever they were, they were artists of pain, they specialized in hurting in ways he'd never been hurt before. 

Lasers on his skin, bones they broke and then healed with miraculous devices only to break them again, burning hot metal pressed against him, bleeding gashes, blood loss that was only stopped when he was so light headed he could hardly think, fire burning in his flesh. It was hell, pure hell, and no matter how he tried to contain himself his throat was raw from screaming. 

By the second day, his whole upper body was black and blue, with a bit of red every now and then. Both his lips were split, one of the eyes bruised beyond recognition and there were hardly any patches of untouched skin on either arm. He was quite sure that he had at least two broken ribs, along with a broken left arms and five broken fingers on his right hand. They also had some electric guns that caused convulsions. 

But that wasn't the worst. The worst was being continuously awaken just as he was falling asleep, day in, day out. Not allowing him to get out of those clothes soaked in pee, vomit and dried blood. Not being talked to except for orders, being left for in that metal chair. Not being fed, hardly being given any water. He was disgusting and he wanted to cry because his head was asking for sleep and getting none and his body was asking for food and getting none. And the pain, everything hurt so much, it hurt to even think.  
There was only one coherent thought going through his head, over and over again. Don't say anything, protect your friends. Don't say anything, protect your friends. And so he didn't say anything, no matter how bad it got. And it got bad. And then worse. 

To say the Guardians of the Galaxy were furious when they found their team mate would be the understatement of the century. Groot stomped through everything, leaving no machine whole. Rocket exploded everything and anything, screaming all the way. 

Drax took down all the people who had anything to do with the situation: anyone who covered what had been happening or helped it in any way, all the individuals who knew about it and still had continued to let it happen, had helped his friend's wounds come to be. All the accomplices, everyone. 

When Gamora had the man who had orchestrated everything under her control all she wanted to do was kill him with her bare hands, slowly and painfully. She wanted to revel on it, enjoy the light leaving his eyes. She wanted to make him beg. But no. That would be too good for him. She decided that she'd let him rot in the worst prison she knew. Little by little he would fade away, poisoned by captivity. She'd make sure the guards and other inmates were extra harsh on him. 

The Guardians almost wished that the rage had lasted longer, because with it gone there was only sorrow at Peter's state and at all the horrors he'd been subjected to. As they approached the battered for of their friend, they realised he was whispering something. 

"Don't say anything... don't... don't anything no...."

It was heartbreaking. 

Peter's recovery was long and painful but none of them cared, none of them complained. After sleeping for three days straight and slowly getting readjusted to food he started looking like he wasn't going to looking more like a person, less like he was going to die. He was covered in bandages and had to take a myriad meds with every meal, but at least he didn't look like he was going to die anymore. Which was great, as all the others were able to breathe a little bit easier. 

Then came the night terrors and recurring nightmares. After a couple of night waking up to muffled screams and tossing and turning, the remaining Guardians decided they take turns sleeping with Peter, so they could wake him or soothe if he was having a bad dream, reassure him when he woke, let him know that he wasn't imprisoned anymore, and that they were with him. It was reassuring not only for him but also for them, who could also sleep better being able to actually see their friend was alive and well. 

(They actually had a bigger bed built, so they could all sleep together)

They all had their ways of taking care of their wounded soldier. 

Groot remembered all the pills and medication Peter was supposed to take and reminded him in his own particular way. Sometimes, at night, he would sit next Peter's bed and make up a whole bedtime story, with a lot of adventures, dances and of course, happy endings. 

"I am Groot, I am Groot, I am Grooot..."

Drax cooked. He started cooking what he used to cook his daughter when she was sick, ended up baking something that looked hideous but had a taste that was reminiscent of apple pie. Peter's taste buds appreciated it terribly, and he smiled with that broken cut up blue and purple face, even if it hurt. After all that hunger, strange looking paste that kinda tasted like apple pie made with love was actual heaven. 

Rocket often went to Quill's bedside to play some card games and other possibly illegal games. This was something he had never done before and that he wouldn't admit to absolutely anyone but in a couple of occasions he let the Terran win, just to see how his eyes lighted up. After seeing him so broken up and bleeding, it was a nice change. But Rocket was NOT going soft, absolutely not. 

Gamora, who had been cold, had become big on little touches. She would move a little curl from Peter's forehead, heal the little scrapes that were left, maybe caress his face when he was caught in a nightmare, maybe touch his hand for a moment while they were eating. She was closer, warmer. Even if it was hard for her to get closer, she didn't want to have too many regrets if something happened to either of them. 

One night they were in their monstrous bed, Gamora and Peter looking at each other in the eye. 

"I didn't think you'd find me." Peter admitted. "I thought of just giving those guys false information and letting them kill me."

"I am really happy that you did not, that you waited for us."

"Thank you for coming to me so quick."

"Thank you for not letting yourself be killed. But if you ever scare us like that, I swear..."


	3. Chapter 3

"Peteeeeeer!"

There had a been a clash, a scream and both Peter and the man he'd been fighting had fallen into the water, on a sharp quick fall. There was no indication that he had awakened during his fall, so he had most likely still been unconscious when he entered the water. Which meant he couldn't swim, which meant he would continue sinking inevitably, which meant he would drown if nobody did something about that. 

And so they screamed. 

These mission hadn't come in a good moment. Rocket and Drax were angry with Quill because he had been hogging the bathroom and they were bored of telling. That was the main thing, but other little things had been piling up. That he'd tampered with one of Rocket's projects, that he hadn't been paying enough attention when Groot spoke or that he kept making jokes Drax couldn't get. And Gamora had been trying to get closer to Nebula and bring her closer, so they'd been pretty distant. 

Truth was, they were all hoping for the assignment to be over with, so they could go back to being mad with each other, or back thinking about their personal problems. There was even talk going their own way for a while, separate, at least for some time. 

So they were all a bit tense, not as well coordinated as they should have been. It was entirely normal, of course, living with people required patience, diplomacy, kindness and they all had quite strong personalities that clashed often. They just needed a bit of room.  Sadly this had an influence and an impact on their performance with their enemies. It meant that they were looking out for themselves and trying to get the mission done, forgetting to look out for their team mates. 

And so Peter ended up on top of a very cold very deep lake, with flying equipment that was failing and a rival that outpowered him in every way. He managed to put up a decent fight but it was only a matter of time before his luck ran out. It was too much to take on alone, simply too much. He was knocked out and his flying equipment finally gave up on him. 

He didn't even had time realise what was happening before darkness claimed him and he was plummeting towards the water at a dangerous speed. He'd been looking for back up while flying, but everyone was too far or too busy. And so he was falling towards the water and Gamora was screaming his name and suddenly everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at their friend, their friend and team mate inevitably on to deep icy waters and their hearts nearly stopped. They finished off their respective battles and got close to the lake.

All of their worries, all the causes they had to be angry with Peter and with each other were suddenly forgotten , in that moment there was only fear and dread, because Peter was drowning and every second that passed he was closer to dying, his lungs more filled with freezing water, his body further down that deathly lake.

Drax was the closest and without hesitating for a second he just threw himself into the lake, desperately searching for his fallen friend. His heart was going a mile a minute as he looked for any trace of Peter's body, anxiety consuming him? Where? Where? He couldn't see anything. What if he had gone too deep for him to reach? Drax felt horribly because he hadn't realised his friend was in danger, and now he may have been to late to save him. He was failing Peter and it hurt. 

Finally, after some agonizingly long and cold moments, Drax saw the shadow of something going down the lake, and swam towards it as fast as he could. It was indeed Peter, cold and lifeless. Drowned. This image gave Drax even more resolve and being the quickest he'd ever been, he got to Peter and carried him out from the lake into the shore, ignoring the dead weight form his friend's body, and found the others waiting, hoping against hope for good news. 

But there were no good news. Peter's lips were blue, he was too cold to the touch and was not breathing. There was only a weak and too slow pulse, getting even slower by the second. He looked dead already and the Guardians' hearts made a painful jump, seeing their lively team mate in such a horrifying state. 

"I am Groot?"

"No, he's not dead, Groot, he just ain't." Rocket screamed, angry, hoping to be saying the truth. 

"Gamora, you try to resuscitate him, I could break something in his thorax." Drax said, still shivering from the cold of the lake but with all his attention on their fallen companion. 

Gamora had been frozen in place, hoping it was all a bad dream. From the moment she saw Peter falling into the water and screamed his name something inside her broke. She really should be used to this by now - theirs was a dangerous gig and they had almost lost Peter a few times already. But this was different, because it was their fault, complete and absolutely their fault. Their enemies hadn't been all that powerful, they should have been easily dealt with. But no. 

They were off their game, each one thinking about their own issues and didn't realize that Peter was struggling. And now he seemed to be at death's door, all white and blue when he was usually made up of much warmer colors. An incredible feeling of loss overwhelmed her, but Drax had spoken and his words made Gamora snap out of it. 

Right. Everything was not lost yet, but she needed to be quick and efficient if she wanted her friend back in the land of the living. She'd been raised as an offensive weapon so resuscitation techniques weren't really her forte (she'd learned some on the side, partly to spite Thanos and partly because she'd been dreaming of a life different from the one she had) but for Peter, she'd have to be the best there was at it. 

And so she started the mouth to mouth and the chest compressions, trying to be both strong and careful. She wanted him back, but she didn't want to break any ribs. He was too breakable, their Terran boy and he'd been abused enough. As Gamora tried to get him breathing again, the other Guardians watched, holding their breaths.   
Groot simply wished he'd been able to do more. Help more, see more, just be with the man more. If he'd seen something before he would have been able to pick Peter up with his extensive arms, and this wouldn't be happening. Peter would still be injured, but he'd get better, like he always did. Now... Groot trusted Gamora, of course, but he felt powerless and oh-so-sad. The terran had helped him when he was small and vulnerable, and Groot hadn't been able to return the favour. 

Rocket felt horrible. He was an irritable and irritating being, and maybe he'd been too hard on Quill. Suddenly everything that had angered him so much before seemed pointless, useless. Him being angry and causing bad blood for unimportant things. The Milano had technically been Peter's place first, and Rocket had done what he wanted with it. He'd been an idiot and had taken Quill for granted. The truth was that there would be no Guardians of the Galaxy without Peter, and now they might lose him because they hadn't acted as a team. And he was to blame, always yelling at Quill and causing drama. If he could take it all back, he would in a second. He couldn't die like this, without knowing how sorry Rocket was. It was not fair. 

Drax was more sad than regretful. He knew loss better than many of them and he would hate for Quill to become a sad memory like his family had. He thought of the good times they had together, of the times they had saved each other's asses. It was thanks to Quill that he was with them, as it was him who included Drax in their plan when they first went after Ronan. He would miss him if he was gone, and he didn't want to miss him too. He already carried enough pain around with him, more than enough. Silently hoping for some of sign of life, he continued watching Gamora as work on their friend. 

Tears were down Gamora's face as she continued with CPR and got no results. She'd never been a big crier but this was too much, too horrible, too sudden. Peter had become part of her, he had touched her inside. And there had been so many things left unsaid. He'd put his heart out for her and she hadn't been able to respond properly. She should have been clearer, should have made sure that even if she didn't feel like doing anything romantic (yet) she valued his company, valued him as a person. Enjoyed the time they spent together. 

Sure, he had many flaws and could be a bit too much at times, but he was him and she loved him for what he was and who he was. A great person.   
But she couldn't think of that now, she had to focus on getting him back, making him breathe again. The seconds felt too long as she continued and nothing was happening. But she didn't stop, wouldn't stop. Her tears fell on his lifeless face. Please don't go, please don't do this, please....

And finally, life. There was a harsh cough, some water and Peter's eyes flew open. Gamora was quick to put him on his side, so he could properly expel the leftover water in his lungs. It took a while for his breathing to go back to normal, much coughing and even some puked water, but no one was grossed out: they were all too relieved, to happy to see him back. 

He was still way too pale and he was still too cold, but the other Guardians would take care of him, make him some tea, make sure he didn't develop anything more serious. He was alive, and that was all that mattered. 

When he got his breath and his friend's faces focused in front of him he saw how happy they were... apart from something he thought he would never see on his life time. 

"Ga.. Gamora?" He rasped. 

"Tears of joy."

"We thought we lost you." Rocket said, much more unassuming than usual. 

"I am Groot?"

"Sure!"

And the ultimate post near death experience group hug came to be. All their bubbling feeling were sublimated in that hug, the fear and the horror from before and the relief and joy from now. Peter didn't know where all this affection was coming from, but he was really cold and welcomed the warmth. 

They stayed like that for a long while, ignoring the rest of the world, never letting go.


	4. Chapter 4

He didn't know exactly what was going on, but he was in excruciating pain, and could taste blood, the metallic taste filling his mouth. He tried to cough, but couldn't muster the energy to do so. He tried to move, tried to see where he was but couldn't. Even trying to move only brought more pain, tears to his eyes, and dark spots in his vision. He was on the floor and there was something wet on it. He was too confused to realise it was an increasingly big pool on his blood. 

In that moment, Peter's head was too concussed to remember that he'd been thrown twelve metres on to the concrete floor from a window, that there had been nothing to stop his fall. He thought he could hear the sounds of battle on top of him, but couldn't be sure. This was bad. If they were fighting, the enemies would have it very easy to finish him off. He couldn't move, he had several bones broken and the blow to his head prevented him from producing decently aimed movements. He was helpless on the floor, coughing blood and unable to do anything to defend himself or help the others. 

Something had gone wrong. There should have been something to lessen the blow, a suit to protect him, some way to lower his speed, but all of his tricks had failed him, and he was suddenly crushed into the cold hard floor, his body complaining. He'd been thrown, punched and kicked too many times, and this one had been one too many. But even through his concussion and the horrible pain he was in, he could see how deep in trouble the others were. And he had to do something, he needed to.He couldn't just stay there and watch while the others were in trouble. 

Worse, one of the others could see his predicament and try to protect him, putting themselves in harm's way on his behalf. Getting hurt or worse just for him. That couldn't stand, he couldn't let it happen anymore.No one was going to get hurt to save him, this was something that he bowed. And so, through the worst agony he had experienced, he managed to start moving, little by little getting something that resembled an standing position. His left arm was a dead weight, impossible to move, but thankfully both his legs were whole, despite some scraping and bruising. 

Moving was horrible, breathing was an absolute nightmare and it made him not just cough but even, retch a bit of blood. It hurt more than he could tolerate but passing out was not an option because then he wouldn't be able to help. And he had to, he was a Guardian of the galaxy, goddammit, and he needed to be there for his friends. He couldn't be useless anymore, he had to do something. Through silent tears, he managed to pick up a gun with his good arm and painfully approached where some bad guys had Rocket and Groot disarmed and being chained up. 

With the last of his strength and with his vision still swimming and becoming blurrier by the time, he managed to shoot both men before falling in a dead faint.   
\---

It had really come as a shock for them. Groot and Rocket had seen Quill fall from a too tall window, and how he lay in a heap afterwards, lifeless, as a pool of blood became bigger and bigger under him. In fact, it was trying to to get to him, to check up on him (they didn't even know if he was still alive) when those two thugs had gotten the best of them. They stood their ground for and almost broke free... but eventually those men shocked them, disarmed them. 

Things were looking really bad, with Quill badly injured (or worse), them bound and chained and Drax and Gamora too far and too immersed on their own fights to help. They really didn't know how they would get out of that situation, but there was always a way to fix things, a way out, either one of them came up with something or someone came to their aid. And someone did come, even if it seemed impossible. 

The thugs that were finishing to chain Groot (an arduous task) when they fell, hit by some gun. Their saviour turned out to be a miraculously awake and standing Quill, all covered in blood and barely able to stand on his feet, eyes glassy. Rocket smiled and wanted to say something like "We had it under control, but thanks", "Nice save", but both his smile and his nice words died out as Peter's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed unceremoniously on the floor. 

Shit.

"I am Groot!!!!!!"

Groot broke free from his chains, even it meant breaking his arms in half, worried, and knelt next to Peter. 

"I am Groot?"

But there was no answer from the unconscious figure on the floor. He'd been at the end of his rope, and that little stunt had completely drained him. 

"Can you help me with this?"

Groot reluctantly moved away from Peter to help Rocket with his chains, and then they quickly went back to Peter's side, horrified by the terrible state he was in. They really should have learnt some form of medicine taking into account how many times they almost died in their line of work. But they were always so busy...

"We need to take him to a safe place, to the ship, but you don't have arms and I'm too small. Andhis place is too dangerous..... But first we need to stop this bleeding with something and I have to find the source..."

Rocket, not knowing what else to use, tore apart a piece from one of the knocked out bad guys and started looking for the source of all that blood, which wasn't as he seemed to be all covered in it, from when he'd coughed and from, you know, going through glass. Rocket knew that he didn't have a lot of time, looking at the pool from where he'd fallen and at the trail he left while getting to them. He couldn't lose any more, they had nothing around that was compatible with him (Terrans weren't at all common in this part of the galaxy).

They didn't want to move the injured too much, but they needed to find the source of the bleed. It turned out to be a large stab wound on his lower abdomen, possibly one of the reasons why he fell from that window. Being stabbed in the gut was never good fro once's balance. Rocket was etremely careful as he carefully dressed the wound, with Groot standing guard in case somebody came. He did a decent job with the rags, put some pressure on it and was happy to see the wound stopping to bleed. 

But still Peter was way too pale and they needed to get him out of there and into a place where he could rest and someone would take care of him. They called (screamed, more like it) for Drax, because he would be strong enough to carry their friend to the ship. He came quite quickly, bewildered by the urgency in his friends' calls. 

"Why were you screaming my name?" He asked, weapons still in his hands, the blood of who knew how many people on him. 

"We need you to take Quill back to the ship, he's hurt, bad. Like, real bad. You take him and make sure that he continues breathing, and look if there are any more bleeding wounds - we can't afford him losing any more blood."

"Gamora needs help, too."

"We're coming. Just take care of Quill."

Drax nodded. As much as he loved battle, he understood that in that moment he was the only one who could move Peter, and he needed to be put in a safe place. So he tucked away his weapons and slowly picked the smaller man into his arms, careful not to jostle his many injuries. 

As he walked with the terran in his arms, he contemplated him. He looked younger somehow, without all that smugness and overconfidence. Smaller, more vulnerable (too vulnerable, too hurt). Drax didn't like how his friend's head lolled from side to side, nor did he like his pallor and the amount of blood staining his clothes. 

When he placed the man in his bed, he could see the extent of his injuries. That fall had really done a number on Peter: his left arm was most definitely broken, there was a big stab wound above his belly button, bruising was blossoming everywhere and he had a million little cuts from the glass in his face, neck and hands. Plus, his breathing sounded funny but Drax didn't know if it was just that Terrans breathed like that when they were hurt. 

So, while he waited for the others, he started taking little glasses out of Quill's injuries. Carefully, so the glass bits wouldn't sink deeper and trying not to hurt man further. Sure, he wasn't awake to complain, but still. Everything else was probably hurting badly enough. He sighed, something that he hadn't done in a long while. Why did Quill always have to put himself in the line of fire? 

Shortly after he got out the last tiny piece of crystal the others arrived, and they had "borrowed" (aka kidnapped) a medic from the opposite side and told to fix Peter or else. And so they watched how the lady worked better than all of them combined, and little by little made Peter look like a living human being again. 

She did something that resembled plastering in his arm, put some healing salve in his arms and injected him with something that should get prevent infection. However, she didn't have anything to fix the blood loss or the broken ribs. They would have to wait it out, but they have no problem with that. They could all use some down time, with just games and fond memories... Maybe they'd go to the Great Lake. Something cozy. 

Peter awoke some hours later, when they were already in the air, getting away from the place where he'd been hurt. When he opened his eyes again, the pain was still there, but it had lessened considerably. It was very present, but bearable. And he wasn't on the floor, but on something soft. 

"What... how did I end up here?"

Gamora and Groot were there, looking at him with calm, pleased faces. It was nice seeing back awake. Even if this time things hadn't been so bad as others, all that blood had been quite unsettling.

"Well, Rocket patched up your bleeding wound, Drax brought you here and me and Groot got you a medic to cure all your boo boos. That's how you ended up here. So, I'm afraid there will be no dancing for you for a while."

Peter lowered his eye, looking at his cast and all the bandages. It would most certainly take a while for that to heal. He sighed, miserably. 

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Gamora frowned. What could he be sorry for?

"I feel so useless."

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, he's right. You saved our asses today, Quill." Rocket said from afar. 

"But you shouldn't have." Gamora countered. "Groot and Rocket can take care of themselves, and you were hurt. You should have tried to find shelter, wait for everything to blow off, maybe find someone to help you. Why go back into battle, when you could hardly stand?"

"I had to help."

"No, you didn't. We had to help you."

There was a moment of silence. 

"I can not let anyone else get hurt because of me." Peter said, barely above a whisper. 

Gamora wanted to say many things: that he wasn't useless and should never think so; that he was so worth getting hurt and that they would gladly sacrifice their safety for his; that he didn't have to stretch himself so thin to help them; that when he got hurt, they felt pain, and suffered for him, with him. That him being safe was as important as them being safe. That he mattered just as much as them.

But he was tired, hurt and had lost a lot of blood that day, so she filed that conversation for another day.

"We're fine. And now it's our turn to help you, whether you like it or not. So you're gonna let Groot fluff your pillows, you're gonna let me lend you my super warm blankie and what was that terran beverage Drax is making?"

"Conou? Zokou?"

Peter's eyes widened. That couldn't be possible.

"Cocoa? You guys found cocoa?"

There were some nods and some smiles. Yeah, Peter may be bruised and broken all over, but he was getting cocoa! Gamora smiled back at him

"You deserve this and much more, Peter. And don't you ever think otherwise."

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for vol. 2 so don't read if you haven't seen it! Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language

How could they have known? No Terran had ever gone to that planet (the Guardians themselves were a bit uncertain about how they got there), so they hadn't breathed their air, eaten their food, that sort of thing. To them, those foods were nutritious and tasty, nothing else, no adverse effect. But for Peter and his body chemistry... well, he was about to the very very adverse effects of the Jaxl root on his flesh and blood for the first time. 

The Guardians had made a quick stop in that planet to pick up supplies, restock and be back on their way. The place was inhabited only by some purple people-like beings, who were efficient but didn't seem to feel much of anything at all. They helped them find some of the items they needed with a blank expression and then continued working.  
They saw that most of them were eating some variation of a blue fruit, some of them in salad-like dishes, others in the burrito-like wraps, but almost everything had that, so they decided to give it a try- The taste wasn't great, but it wasn't all that bad either - much like the people of the planet. Enough to make the job, but not too exciting. Harmless. 

Or so they thought. 

Peter began feeling a bit off about an hour later, when he was piloting the Milano to their next stop: a little planet close to Xandar where they had a client. It was just a faint queasiness and nausea, nothing too important, so he tried to continue piloting and ignore it. He'd eaten worse things before and got food poisoning many times in his life. He could deal with that, his stomach had become hardened by all the horrors he'd put in it. But this was no normal food poisoning, this was something else. 

Something far worse. 

He decided to let Rocket pilot for a while when his vision started blurring around the edges, dizzy spells plaguing him and making him a liability on the con. Rocket asked him if he was okay, and he dismissed him, saying that he was simply a bit tired. It had been quite an eventful couple of weeks, so Rocket didn't think too much of it. 

Peter went to the little room he had on the ship, hoping that a little nap would fix things, make him feel better. But when h lay on the bed he found that the world was spinning wildly around him, and that he couldn't stop it. Impossible to sleep. Besides, the faint queasiness in his stomach was becoming actual pain and reality seemed to be soling its solid edges. He was getting scared. 

Completely dizzy, the whole world revolving around him, Peter fell on the floor, his hand and his whole body shaking badly. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. The lights started flickering in and out and he closed his eyes, trying to get more balance, even if he could the room spinning all around him. When he opened his eyes, the room was in complete darkness and there was someone else in the room. 

"Mum?"

She was kind of blurry, wrong somehow but it was most definitely her, there in his room of the Milano, just like he remembered her. With her hair all gone and her eyes all hollow and sunken like in her last days. She was looking at him but not lovingly she used to, in fact, she seemed... angry.

"You let me die." She said, in a clear voice.

Peter was rendered speechless. That was her voice without a doubt and it felt as if she speaking directly in his head, loud and potent. He wanted to reach out, say something to her but his mind was still too dizzy, couldn't seem to form words properly. He had only managed to move a bit from his spot on the floor when she spoke again. 

"You can save the whole Galaxy great Star Lord and yet you did nothing to help me."

Peter's eyes were bright with unshed tears, those few words hurting more than any physical ailment. She was right, he knew she was and it hurt, so much. He wanted to say that he was sorry, that he hadn't known what to do and was so sorry but the words were stuck in his throat. Reality kept getting blurrier. 

"I am dead because of you, Peter, If I hadn't had you I wouldn't be dead. He wouldn't have killed me."

"Mom" Peter's voice was trembling and weak but he felt frozen, unable to say something else, unable to recover from the blows he was receiving. It was too much, all too much, and his head was too muddled to question her presence in his ship after such a long time and being so far. He didn't know what to say, how to fix it. 

It hurt more than words could express, seeing her there, so close and yet so distant, so far away, and knowing she was right, that everything she was saying was true. It was his fault, but what could he do now to fix it? He felt as powerless as he had when he was a child, a useless presence, a burden. 

He wanted to fix it, stop her anger but couldn't do anything, he kept trying to think of something better than I'm sorry and nothing was coming to him. He tried to get closer to her but couldn't and she seemed to be farther and farther every time, getting away from him. Everytime he tried to stand his knees buckled, betraying him, and he was back on the floor. Useless, worthless boy.

And then there was a sharp pain on his stomach and he doubled up in agony, desperately wishing this torture would end. Tears finally fell, partly from sadness, partly from the pain the assaulted him and he closed his eyes hoping both the outside world and his body would stop existing, stop hurting him so much. 

No such luck. When he opened his eyes, someone else was waiting for him. 

Yondu.

"You let me die." 

He said, and his familiar voice was like needles in his brain. Not you too... Peter thought immediately, and tried to pass along with his eyes, but the Ravager showed him no sympathy. 

"All those years, I protected you from your father and now I'm dead because of you. What good are you, boy? You got me killed."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I never wanted to... So sorry..."

Peter's mind was like a broken record, constantly replaying the worst moments of his life, watching the people he had failed blame him for their untimely ends. He was trapped in a nightmare, alone with his ghosts.  
\-----

Rocket asked Gamora to check in on Peter, as he hadn't been looking too good when they'd last seen each other, and he was a bit concerned. When she went to his room, the sight there stopped her in her tracks. 

Peter was on the floor, pale as a sheet, looking at a fixed point in front of him and apologizing to it profusely, his cheeks wet and his eyes bloodshot from crying. It took her a moment, but then she understood. He was talking to someone who wasn't there, seeing someone who wasn't there. 

She'd seen that before, even felt it. When she was younger, Thanos would conjure images of her old life and then turned them against her with ellaborate illsuions. It was a horrible feeling, because in that moment the images felt real and so did the words they spoke. 

"Peter?"

She knelt down on the floor next to him and grabbed his face (he was too warm, way too warm) hoping to chase those images away that were obviously causing him so much pain. 

"Peter, can you hear me?"

"Gamora?"

"Yes, yes, it's me."

"Did.... did I get you killed too?" Peter's voice was soft, almost a whisper, which only worried her more.

"What? No, Peter, I'm fine. And whatever you were seeing, whoever you were seeing, they were not real, and what they wasn't ok? You're just sick."

But how did he get so sick in such a short time? He was perfectly fine when they got back to the ship, and that was only a few hours ago. And in that moment Peter doubled up again, clutching his stomach and in that moment she understood. That thing they'd eaten must have been poisonous for his species. 

This was bad, so very bad. 

Gamora thought of the training she'd received on what to do if you ingested poison and sighed. This was not going to be pleasant, for either of them, but she had to try to get as much as she could out, so she took a trash can, apologised many times, and made him vomit until there was nothing but dry heaves. It was painful to watch (and painful to live through, obviously), after all he'd been through that night, that he had to go through that too. 

But in the end, even if his throat was raw, his head was a bit clearer. It hurt from the crying and the general poisoning, but things were starting to be a bit less... fuzzy, for lack of a better word. More real, more solid. Gamora was actually there, she could touch her. Nobody was angry at him (well, maybe himself, because the images of his lost ones may be gone, but their words still echoed in his head) and the pain had ebbed away considerably. It was still there, but it was tolerable. 

It took him a while to realise that Gamora was holding his whole upper body, rocking slightly and whispering something. A part of him was horrified that she was seeing him like this, with the puke and tears and general horribleness, but another part was just glad to be embraced, to be held. He would think about his sins another day. Now, he was just tired and happy to be where he was. 

Gamora kept that until Peter fell asleep. It had been a scary time, watching him so broken, so full of anguish. He was generally so... whole. But it was okay. She could take care of him. And if she had to fight his demons one by one, she would. 

That was a promise.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by LiterallyThePresident. Hope you enjoy!

They were facing an army of clone soldiers, so this time they needed all the fire power they could get. The usual line up of Guardians were joined by Kraglin, Mantis and Nebula, they few people they felt they could trust (well, with Nebula it could go either way, but she seemed to want to patch things up with Gamora, so they were hoping for the best). 

Peter had devised a fairly elaborate plan (which surprised each one of the others, even if some of them didn't exactly agree) to avoid any casualties or running into unexpected trouble. This needed to go without a hitch, their enemy wasn't difficult enough to vanquish without adding internal chaos. There were too many things they couldn't control, so he devised an strategy. He gave each of his team mates their own role, trying to maximize their skills and avoid conflict between partners. It wasn't easy to balance people out, because they all had very very strong personalities, but Peter did his best, with some input from Rocket and Gamora, but mostly by himself. It was important for him that this went well, after a couple of missions that have finished almost tragically. No. 

He had wanted to make sure that everything went perfectly, even managed to get his hands on some vests resembling kevlar to protect them (at least the ones that had accepted to wear it) and he was prepared for any eventuality. This was important for him, as a leader, to know that he could pull off difficult ops without having casualties or closed calls on his side. He needed this victory. But things weren't turning out they way he wanted. 

The battle had just started and his plan was already falling apart. Rocket and Nebula were fighting. They had lost sight of Mantis and Kraglin, Drax and Groot had gone Rogue and Peter was trying to keep track of all of them while covering Gamora. And failing. The enemy soldiers were gaining up on them, using their internal fights to corner them. All that planning, all that work, for nothing. 

But no, he wouldn't give up so soon. In the midst of gunshots one voice could be heard, a guiding force. Oh, if only any of the people he was speaking to would pay any attention. Despite their chaotic way of fighting, they started getting the upper hand, and Peter kind of gave up on trying to get them together to work on defeating the enemy in a unified way. Maybe they were all too much of free spirits to work as a team. Maybe he simply was it a good leader. But when a crisis was averted, another one exploded in their faces. Literally. 

Some sort of smoke bomb went off, there was a loud explosion, dust and debris everywhere and people not understanding what had happened. It was chaos. The good thing was that the explosion had decommissioned a good number of clone soldiers. The bad things were many: some of Guardians were stunned or injured, even if everything was minor; they lost track of where everything was and somebody was coughing loudly, alerting what few enemies may be left of what they were. 

He had absolutely forgotten about this, thought that he had grown out of this. Which was good, because there were no inhalers out there in space, and having an asthma attack while with the ravagers could mean they thought he was defective and probably better eaten. So, he'd discarded the inhaler he had with him after some time, and kinda forgotten about it. His new space home was no place for sicknesses, so it was good. 

And then, suddenly, they were surrounded by dust, dust everywhere, and he started coughing and couldn't stop. Surely it was just an excessive reaction to the sudden amount of dust, and he'd stop coughing in a moment, when it cleared up. Surely it was just his mind panicking that made him feel as if his chest was getting tighter and tighter. It couldn't be, it had been almost thirty years since the last time, and there was no way that he was going to have an asthma attack now, surrounded by enemies and weapons, millions of light kilometers away from the nearest inhaler, with no shelter, no doctors and no one who even know what asthma was. 

He tried to calm himself, hoping it would go away, knowing that panicking only made him worse, and hoping the tightness would go away and he would be able to stop coughing finally, and go back to normal. He wanted to be able to breathe again, but couldn't. No matter how much he tried to do all the things he'd been taught as a kid (try to take long, not move and focus on breathing....) no air came to his lungs, and his chest felt tighter and tighter. He couldn't breathe, and this was no paranoia, no false alarm. He was having an attack in the worst place and the worst moment ever to have one. 

His breaths became shorter, quicker and more shallow, and eventually the coughing subsided a bit (even if not completely) giving way painful and loud wheezes, both in and out. Peter felt that he was losing strength, and that his head was starting to get dizzy. He wanted to say something, ask for help, but it speaking was almost impossible, just like breathing was. It was agonizing, trying to get air and getting so little, and so painfully. And this was so much worse than the ones he had as a kid, because there was no inhaler, no chair for him to sit on, no teacher or mom to help him through it. 

But the others had started to notice that something was wrong. While trying to reassess the situation after the blast, Gamora had heard some weird noises coming from where Peter was supposed to be, like someone choking, getting the air sucked out of them. And so, worried, she made her way through his position and found her partner with his hands on his knees, gun on the floor, paler than she'd ever seen him before. 

With a couple of expert movements, she managed to get a hold of the Terran and move them both out of the line of fire, behind a pile of rubble. 

"Peter? What's wrong, what happened?"

Peter was wheezing horribly now but he looked at her and tried to get the message through.

"Can't... breathe..."

"Yeah, I see that, but why?"  
He didn't reply, just wheezed again. It was getting harder and harder to get any air, his chest feeling extremely tight, he was starting to feel feel lightheaded. He tried to answer Gamora but no words came out, just another harsh cough. Oh, what a fool he'd been, taking breathing for granted, discarding the inhaler he had when he'd been abducted because it would be expired. What he would give in that moment for just a gulp of expired medication. 

"Nevermind why, how can I stop it, how can I help?"

Peter shook his head lightly. There was nothing she could do, in all his years in space he hadn't heard of any similar conditions and there was little to no chance that they had anything to help him in that battlefield. 

"Me...dication..." He half wheezed half said to try and calm Gamora's inquisitive eyes, but she only got more nervous. 

"Do you need medication? Right now?" 

And suddenly someone else was there, wondering why her sister had disappeared. Nebula.

"What...? What's wrong with Quill?" Nebula asked, instantly noticing how pale and sick the human was looking and how many strange noises were coming out of him. 

"He's having a fit of something, some Terran sickness and apparently he needs medicine and we need medicine and don't have it. I'm gonna go look for the others, see if they know something that can help. Can you look after him for a bit, watch out that no one gets to him? Please?" 

Nebula nodded. It wasn't the job of his dreams, watching the back of a sick Terran boy, but Gamora had asked and she wanted to be there for here, bond. And who knew, maybe if she helped then they would help her in the future against Thanos. 

So while Gamora took off to find some help, Nebula was left with a horrible sounding Quill. For how tall and muscular he was, he was looking quite non-threatening in that moment, all pale skin, a cold sweat on his face making the hair be plastered to his forehead. And his eyes, they looked so pain filled, so miserable. Yeah, Nebula could relate. 

She helped him into a sitting position and sat next to him, gun at the ready. She shot some soldiers and then the only sound filling the silence were his horrible wheezes as he tried to breathe. It sounded quite painful, and even though Peter wasn't his favourite person in the world, he found herself hoping she could do more for him. 

"I have a bionic lung I don't need to live, but I don't think you would find much use for it." She said, despite her better judgement. She didn't want people thinking she was nice, getting a wrong idea. She was death itself, a force of destruction, and....

Peter looked her way, his pale eyes warm and drew a half-smile he hoped conveyed the message of " _thanks anyway_ " and she decided she could go back to being cold as ice when this poor man wasn't in excruciating pain. He had been the one to call her for this battle, and she was a tiny bit flattered that he would count on her, taking her into account when devising his strategy. Maybe, just maybe, she was starting to see a bit what her sister saw in him. 

But he was getting worse, and his lips were going blue, the wheezing more spaced. No, no, no, blue was her colour, not something that any living Terran should have on them.

Now she was starting to get worried. 

"You can not die from this, can you, Quill?"

Peter looked at Gamora, not surely how to say _maybe_ without words (because he really didn't know, it had been so long), and then just shrugged. He continued looking at her, this former villain who he hoped one day would be part of his family too, and took out his hand with a pleading look. When he was a kid and attacks, his mum would always hold his hand, which made him feel better, which made everything better. Sure, this was a bit awkward because he hardly knew Nebula, but he was scared and in pain and could really use the comfort. 

Nebula looked at the hand absolutely, after figuring out why he was holding out his hand like that. No one had ever come to her for comfort, in all her life, in all that she remembered. She didn't even know if she was able to provide any comfort, specially with a guy that she didn't know all that well. It felt odd. But this Peter Quill was important to Gamora and he had trusted her for this battle despite their rocky past, so it was more than a stranger. 

Taking people's hands when in distress wasn't something she thought she'd do, but when she'd been taken apart in the past, she would have loved to have somebody there to hold her hand. She couldn't undo the pain she'd been through, but maybe she could lessen Quill's. Not everyone needed to experience the hells she had, not alone. 

So she looked at that too pale face and finally took his hand, maybe too abruptly, maybe not in the way she should be doing it, but letting him know that she was there, that he wasn't alone. His wheezing had become less noisy and less frequent, but Nebula didn't think that was a good sign. He was whiter than ever, and seemed exhausted from trying to breathe. Still, she looked at him, confident. 

"Gamora and the others will find a way to help you, I am sure."

And she squeezed his hand even stronger. 

Peter was starting to think that it was hopeless, that there was no way they would find something to help him, but he was grateful for Nebula's word and her firm grip on his hand. This was clearly hard for her, but he appreciated the effort, and her general presence. He was hardly moving any air by now, his lips completely blue and no one was coming and the concept of mouth to mouth suddenly came to Nebula's mind and she really really didn't want to do that...

And suddenly there were blasts, and they were all back and they had a plan to make it all better. Drax took the nearly unconscious man on his arms, Gamora, Nebula and Kraglin were clearing a path for them to get to the ship while Groot and Rocket were bringing it closer. 

Apparently, among some of the much trash Rocket had collected over the years (parts and other things) there were a bunch of Terran things, and among those things there was some medicine and maybe there was something that could help him breathe again. Mantis helped put Peter into a calmer state of mind, which was also helpful. Now they were all running towards the ship, not caring about anything. 

Once Gamora had explained the situation and that Peter was in danger, they had put aside all differences and became a well oiled machine. Who cared about anything else when Peter's life could be hanging in the balance? Suddenly, in 15 minutes they did what they hadn't been able to do in hours. Gamora, fueled by the image of a too pale Peter wheezing and telling her that he couldn't breathe, didn't allow any "I can't do it"s or any "it's too risky"s. It needed to be done. 

An almost limp, too pale and sweaty Peter, with an awful blue in his lips and fingernails was put in one of the beds of the ship. Rocket was there with his knick knacks, hoping he had picked up something of use. 

They tried some injections in a box that didn't work. They even opened his mouth to get something called a cough syrup down his throat, but it didn't help much either. Finally they found a little plastic mask with a little tank that they believed contained oxygen. It was their last hope, but thankfully, it worked. 

After a while, Peter felt that he could breathe again, and even if he was incredibly tired and sore after the mother of all asthma attacks, he was thankful to have a team that cared enough about him to finish a difficult battle just to be able to help him. It was touching. 

Peter thanked Nebula, and she said that if he ever mentioned their hand holding incident to anyone she would cut off both his hands and then kill him (But deep down she was touched too). The Guardians searched and searched until they found some inhalers, so that this could never happen again. 

Secretly, they all found an extra inhaler, in case something happened to Peter's. Their enemies were all baffled by those peculiar objects, not knowing what purpose they could serve. It was a team thing. 

And it was a little bit touching as well.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware, spoilers for Vol.2 in this ep! 
> 
> Electrocution, requested by Valmure and RelenaDuo. Hope you liked! And bear in mind that I am not an English native speaker or a medical professional! This is just for fun, so I hope you guys are having it :)

After so long in space, mostly living outside the law, (beside it at the very least), Peter had become quite used to the effect of many weapons on his body. There were many things from earth that were impossible to get out there, but weapons appear to be quite universal. Guns, rifles, machine guns. There were also fancier ones, of course. 

But the law enforcers of the galaxies he'd been on (and the criminals as well) had been specially fond of electricity based weaponry. Tasers, electric guns, even some cute little discs that stuck to its targets and electrocuted them. It was a good way to stop and incapacitate your opponent but keeping them alive and conscious in case you neede them to talk or the bounty specified "alive and in good condition".

Peter had been on the wrong end of that type of gun (the one receiving the electric charge) many times and no matter how many times he'd felt it before, it never hurt less. It wasn't just the moment of the electrocution (which was extremely painful and made him do undignified things like scream out or writhe on the floor) but the after effects, how sore and tired they left him. 

But those left almost no visible marks, no scars or wounds, so he felt like a whiny baby if he complained. Which meant he didn't complain, which meant nobody knew how damaged he was which meant people didn't understand why he was so clumsy and touchy and generally out-of-sorts. 

In this occasion, somebody had taken him as bait for Yondu. Peter had said a million times that the other man wasn't coming but his captor, an older woman with silver skin and hair refused to believe what he said, no matter how much he repeated his words. 

"He'll come if I hurt you bad enough. He wouldn't let his boy suffer that much, now, would he? No, he'll pretend he doesn't care for a while and then think up an excuse to come and rescue you."

"He won't come because he's dead!"

"It's nice of you protect him, but I'm not buying it."

And so she pursued her intent of making Peter be hurt enough that Yondu would have no other choice but to storm the place and take him back. And then, it would be her chance, a time for revenge, for payback, for comeuppance. The Terran was just a tool to get there, a tool to get Yondu here. 

She was so convinced that part of Peter had begin imagining the blue-skinned Ravager breaking down the door and taking him away, putting an end to his suffering and leaving with him in a blaze of glory, even if he knew that it wasn't possible. And in all the years they spent together, and after all the trouble Peter had gooten himself into there had been no dashing rescues, so it was very unlikely, even if there were such a thing as ghosts, that he would come. Still, that rescue was a comforting thought. 

Something that was very important in the situation he found himself in. The woman was relentless. She was taking all her pent-up anger and frustration on Peter, after so planning this whole and obtaining no results. 

She avoided hurting him so much that he would pass out, in case Yondu called and wanted to speak to the Terran, but short of that she did almost everything she could think of. She liked punching him in the face, see that red blood flow. She also enjoyed breaking bones little by little, but specially she liked electricity.   
They were different sizes and they had different power - they even had of different colours. And they also hurt in different ways, some of them had an effect that spread through his nevous system slowly and painfully, others had a more delayed effect, others made you feel a lot of pain in a moment and then wore off. Those generally left burns, which increasing in number, despite most of those guns leaving no trace. 

Peter stopped eating, thinking that in that way he'd pass out sooner and spend more time in blissful unconsciousness (it had happened a couple of times, when the currents reached his head) but the woman had some sort of defibrilator thingy that woke him up every single time, hurting even more, making him dizzy and angry. He was exhausted, but couldn't break free. And he was too tired, too weak, to continue trying to get away on his own. 

He was pretty sure he had some sort of internal damage after a while. The burns on his hands weren't healing properly, and there was a sort of heaviness that reached even his head and made somehow time pass even slower. The woman was starting to realise that Peter was probably telling the truth, and that all her careful planning, all her revenge couldn't be done. It was her angry, even more angry than she'd already been, and her prisoner took the brunt of his anger. 

When the other Guardian finally broke into her hideout and found Peter, his heart had stopped beating. While Rocket and Drax took care of the escaping woman, Gamora and Groot went to their fallen friend, tears forming in their eyes, and tried to get him to wake up again. There were burns all around him, dark shadows under his eyes, bruises marring his face and neck, and he had clearly lost weight. Gamora felt a surge of anger within her, but now was not the time for retribution. First they had to bring Peter back. 

"I am Groot?" 

Groot offered her the defribilator, having seen similar machines bring seemingly dead people back again, back to life. Gamora was doubtful. Those tings ran on electricity and Peter had obviously been subjected to that many times. What if she messed up everything even worse? What if another shock was the final nail in his coffin? 

But seeing Peter like that, lifeless, white as a sheet, abused to the limit of what was endurable, with the marks of violence still on him (and what they couldn't see was probably worse) and she knew that it couldn't end like this, she couldn't go like this. Peter deserved a better death, that villain didn't deserve her vengeance and they deserved their friend back. Needed him back, in a way that was not describable by words, viscerally, painfully. So she had to try, for all their sakes. And she had to do it good. 

She tried it once, heart full of dread, Groot's eyes watching everything behind her. This had to work, it was their only chance. But it didn't, Peter's body jerked but nothing else. With a heavy heart, Gamora increased the potency of that thing. Still nothing. Groot was shocked into silence while Gamora was mouthing a low constant "come one, Peter, wake up, you've got to wake up" almost without realising it. At some point they were joined by Rocket and Drax, who had captured their friend's captor and came to see how he was doing. 

They watched in silence as the man they admired was shocked, but remained lifeless on that little makeshift prison floor. It was painful to watch, and yet, they didn't want to stop, because that would mean that he was gone, that they had lost him for good. Too painful to even consider, much less to watch, to experience. No. Quill had to be forever, stay with them forever, never leave, never stop breathing, never stop in general. It was too soon for him to go. 

And when all hope seemed lost Gamora tried again, on the maximum capacity of that contraption, and yes, this time he opened his eyes, took a deep breath, looked around him, disoriented. 

"What....'"

The Guardians breathed too, enormous grins on their faces. Their eyes were smiling, their whole being was smiling at seeing their friend back from the dead. Peter would leave to see another day, and that was all that mattered. 

Gamora held him tightly against her, feeling him hug her back, hearing his breathing, his irregular but present heartbeat. 

"Ya scared the hell out of us, Quill!" Rocket exclaimed, surprised at how incredibly relieved he was, and how much it had hurt when they thought he wasn't going to wake up again. 

"I am Groot!"

"A close call, indeed!" Gamora. "It's so so good to see you awake."

"You must promise never to repeat something like that. I do not enjoy being frightened in such a manner." Drax said, and meant it, like he meant everything else.   
Peter just nodded, looking at his friends gratefully. 

That night, they patched him up, put ointment in his burns and bandaged up the worst ones, plastered what was broken and made him a lavish dinner. 

For a long time after that, Peter had dreams of elctrocution-related deaths. Sometimes it was him, sometimes it was the others who were the vicitim of the horrible effects of electricity. Sometimes he had phantom pains, from the places where the current had entered, no matter how long it had been since the burns had healed. Rocket was careful not to tinker with anything that electricity near the man, just in case. He knew how many bad memories it brought back. 

Increasingly often, when Gamora was worried about something she would go to sleep to where Peter was, lay next to him and put her head on his chest, to hear his heartbeat. It was there, he was there, and that made her calmer than any mediation technique in the world. 

That heartbeat was the sweetest music in the galaxy. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Appendicitis, requested by MiscellaneousThief, Marca Emelia and Falconeye (who wanted surgery). I don't know if it's good, but it's a tad bit longer than other chapter. Hope you enjoy!

He had eaten too much, now he felt like crap. A satisfied client had decided to treat them to the best buffet in her little planet and Peter had definitely treated himself, because the food was really good, and free and there were lots of it he had been quite hungry when he got there, so there had been no stopping him. 

Rocket had called him a bottomless and Drax had pointed out that they could all see his bottom. The thing was, he knew he had eaten too much, the others knew it too. It had been a pleasant day, even if he'd ended up feeling uncomfortably full and wishing he had more control. Now he had to pilot the ship feeling like shit because he'd decided to gorge himself. He bought this pain. 

So he just kept quiet and ignored how his discomfort was a bit too much, and lingering for too long. How even after hours had passed it stayed there, and what was vague discomfort had become pain, a very localized one, which made no sense, because when on was too full he felt bloated all over, not in just one part. Maybe something he'd eaten had went down wrong. He sighed. Food poisoning was the last thing he needed right now. 

Surely it would pass and the next day all of this would be a bad memory. Luckily, most of the crew had been sleeping at the time, or occupied elsewhere, so it was easier to focus on piloting the ship and ignore everything else. Also this way nobody would give him a hard time for having messed himself up so badly, just for eating too much.   
Only this didn't feel like other time he'd eaten too much - not at all. When he was with the ravagers, food was often scarce, and specially for him, who was for a long time the smallest of all of them, the one with less seniority, someone who not everybody accepted or thought was important. Sometimes Yondu or Kraglin got him something on the down low, but then they made him pay for it with favours. They reminded him of that food for ever and ever. 

But if those two were out he would sometimes go days without eating almost anything, and so when he got access to it again he went crazy and ate too much at once. He told himself he wouldn't that again, that he'd learned, but he didn't. And what he had felt those days was not something similar to today. No, this was probably something else, maybe something he ate, maybe something else. It had been an eventful couple of weeks, it could be anything, any of his old wounds acting up. He wasn't the most careful person regarding his health. 

Whatever it was, Peter wished it would stop. He just wanted to go to bed, make himself a ball and forget everything, let it pass. He had no right to complain, it had been him who had eaten too much and the others would point their fingers at him and tell him it served him right for being such a bottomless pit. Ugh. This physical body of his could be so much trouble. The others, like Gamora or Drax never seemed to have problems like an upset stomach or coughing fit. 

After a while, Kraglin who had joined them some time ago, came by to check if he needed something and asked him if he wanted to get some rest while he piloted the ship. Peter gratefully agreed, happy to be able to go to his bed, where he would be able to moan and hold his stomach in peace, without anyone looking. Jesus, whatever it had been, it was giving him a hell of food poisoning. It was almost difficult to go to his bed maintaining the posture and not double up. 

He thought going to bed and crawling under the blankets would help him feel a bit better but it didn't help at all. The pain seemed to be descending in location and it only got worse. His head felt worse, too, and he was kind of cold. And his stomach hurt so much, he didn't think he'd felt anything like that before. Sure, it would probably pass like everything else had but in the meantime, it was being pure agony. He decided to wait until morning, and if it hadn't gotten better he would ask Rocket for one of them pills he had stolen across the galaxies. Something was bound to help him with that pain or at least knock him out. Anything was better. 

Morning came and most of the crew was walking through the ship, thinking about breakfast when Kraglin asked Gamora to check on Peter. He usually slept in, specially after having been piloting, but something about the night before had felt off. The Ravager felt something hadn't been quite right, and he had known Peter long enough to know that he wasn't the most forthcoming when he wasn't feeling right. It never hurt to check, 

Gamora didn't mind. She liked watching Peter sleep, he was so quiet and peaceful, like an enormous muscly angel with thieving tendencies. It was cute. But the scene that greeted her when she opened Peter's door was not cute, not at all. He was pale, his eyes bloodshot, and seemed to be in great pain. 

"Gamora? Is it morning already?"

She just got closer to him, taking in the pallor and what a smelled like vomit in a nearby thrash can. He may have gotten sick simply from eating too much, but it seemed a little extreme. She put her hand on his forehead and found it too warm, way too warm. 

"I don't feel good." He mumbled, wanting to sound more composed, but not being able to. It just hurt too much. 

 

"Where does it hurt?"

"Here," he said, pointing at an area in his lower abdomen "a lot. But also everywhere else. I puked and everything feels so much worse. And I want to throw up again, but I also don't want to. And it hurts."

"Let me see if there is something that we can give to help you, ok?"

Gamora got out, with a heavy heart. There was something really wrong with Peter, and they were at a very bad spot, too far from any inhabited planets. They were supposed to be another three days still in space, and although they had supplies she didn't know if they would had anything that was appropriate to help him. What if he'd been poisoned? What if...?

Kraglin's voice stopped her gloomy thoughts. 

"So?"  
"He's sick. He's complaining about his stomach and he's been vomiting. I mean, the logical thing is to think that it's just something he ate and leave it all that, but he's feverish too, and he seems to be in too much pain for it to just be food poisoning."

Kraglin then remembered a battered old book the Captain had around for many years, that dealt with Terran sicknesses. Peter had just been really sick for nearly a month, and Yondu said that they'd put too much time and food on that kid for him to die of some stupid Earth illness. Kraglin couldn't read all that good, but sometimes he picked that book for entertainment, to have something different to do. He never read it whole, but he did remember most of the entries on "A" because those were the ones he'd read most times. 

"Ask him if it hurts more when he coughs, and if the pain is in a specific part, or more general. And see if he's sensitive to touch."

Gamora threw him an inquisitive look but did as instructed. Kraglin had been totally right: it hurt more when he coughed, or walked and the pain was very specifically located, and very, very sensitive to the touch (Normally, he loved being touched by Gamora, but that one time he had to scream in pain. Why did the world, or the Galaxy hate him and put him through that kind of shit? He was a relatively nice guy!").

She went back to Kraglin almost sprinting, to ask what did he know, what was wrong with Peter. Kraglin told her about the book, and about appendicitis. How if left untreated could lead to terrible complications, like an infection of the blood. How it needed surgery to remove the organ that doing the damage, or it could burst and cause a much more serious condition. Shit. She didn't know anything about surgery. 

She went back to Peter, to offer some comfort. Drax was now piloting the ship, asking why the long faces. When he was told, he started to look for places to put the ship, but all the planet they were close to seemed even worse than the ship itself. No supplies, no help, no inhabitants, so no medics. They were on their own. 

"Kraglin is looking for something for your pain." Gamora told Peter. "We think we know what's wrong, but...."

"But what?" Croaked Peter, no matter what it was, it couldn't be worse than this living agony. He was too hot and too cold at the same time, and the pain on his stomach was relentless. Not even Gamora being there was comforting, specially with that concerned face. He just wanted everything to be over. 

"It needs surgery. But I don't know if we have the supplies, or the skills to do it...."

Peter sighed. Certainly, making one of his Guardian friends, who had no medical experience while in the middle of the nowhere didn't seem very appealing, but surgery meant anesthesia and he could do with being out of it for a few hours. 

"Ask Rocket. He's good with his hands, can fix things. Knows where the stuff is in this ship, even the weirdest things."

"That's actually not a bad idea."

When told the situation, Rocket disagreed.

"Are you insane? I'll kill him! I don't even know what am I supposed to take out!"

"It was something like this." Kraglin said, showing him a horrible drawing he'd made on a piece of his shirt, with what he remembered from the picture on the book. Oh, how he wished he had that old thing back now. He tried to remember the next paragraphs "It's on the area that is causing the pain, and it's smaller than the rest of things. I will there to help you, with everything I remember and everything I can assist. You gotta help him."

"I can not do that! There's too much responsibility, I fix machines, not people!"

"You've fixed things way more complicated than me..." A faint voice came from the door frame. It was Peter, pale as death, trying to hold himself up right. "I'm sure this job will be a walk on the park for you."

Rocket sighed. This was too big, too important. If he agreed and didn't do things perfectly Quill would die, but he didn't agree there also a chance he would be a goner. He looked liked death warmed over already, all pale, his face flushed, all his movement kind of shaky and uncertain. This was not like Quill at all, and he hated watching him in that state. 

"Besides, you'll have nurse Kraglin and all the help you need from the Guardians for the galaxy."

"I don't... I can't....." Just the thought of opening Peter up and looking inside him... It wasn't just the fact that it was a living thing and not a machine, but a living thing he cared about. A friend. 

"Please, Rocket. It hurts so much. I need you."

One look into Quill's bright glassy blue eyes and Rocket knew he couldn't say no. He would have to do this, for better or worse. For everyone's sakes, he hoped it would be for the better. 

They prepared a bed and gathered all the supplies they thought could be useful. There wasn't a lot, but at least there were some anesthetics and an scalpel. That would have to do. Just before going under, Quill muttered a reassuring "I trust you, you can do this". And of course he could and he would. But it was tough. 

It was tough cutting into Peter's flesh, even if it was for his own good. It was tough watching all the blood go out, their friend's blood, and remain unaffected and clean it. It was painful having to look inside him for whatever was hurting him, and maintain the cut open. What it they were doing it all wrong? What if they were only hurting him more? Sometimes, the scalpel shook on his hold and Rocket needed a moment to compose himself. But Quill needed him, needed them to do this right and so they would. 

"I think that's the thing" Kraglin said, and pointed. Yeah, Rocket also thought that was the thing. 

Now came the tricky part. Getting it out without hurting anything else. Those were Peter's insides, and wounds on the inside were much harder to heal than on the outside. He couldn't mess up and he'd messed up many times. But he owed Peter doing this right and so he would. 

With precise, delicate movements, and using the scalpel and couple other instruments he felt comfortable with, slowly but surely, the cursed things was out. It was bloody and ugly but it was out. Rocket breathed, and the others that were watching smiled. Maybe there was hope for their dear Star Lord yet. Maybe this crisis was averted. 

Of course, now they had to close the gash and stitch it, but that was easier. 

Now they had to wait, and hope there were no complications.

When Peter came to, he felt odd and there was something tight on his stomach, but it didn't feel like someone was stabbing him on the inside. He had stitches before, he was familiar. They fixed him, he could breathe again, exist again beyond that pain. While he recovered he started thinking of ways to thank Rocket for his surgery and Kraglin for remembering that stupid book Yondu had so many years ago. Those memories may as well have saved his life.

Everybody was more careful with him when he said he was feeling under the weather, and checked on him constantly. They looked for the book and bought some other, better surgical supplies hoping they would never ever have to use them. And they got Kraglin a nurse's uniform and he seemed very pleased. Rocket was going to remind Quill of this until forever, he thought.

And Peter decided never to overeat again, even if they had been two unrelated things. Just in case.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poison, as requested.

"Watch out!"

There was an almost silent explosion and pink gas filled the air. The Guardians didn't know if the gas was poisonous, or it was meant to temporarily blind and confuse them, but they kept going. Only Peter, Drax and Nebula had been caught in the middle of it, and only Peter seemed to be affected by it. 

Drax was just confused not being able to see and Nebula could even see thanks to her mechanical eye. She finished off the soldier who who had set the trap with one blow each, so when the smoke cleared off the remaining Guardians saw her triumphant figure next to the bodies all surrounding her, a confused Drax trying to focus his eyes with knifes at the ready and a dazed and glassy eyed Peter, who seemed a tad disoriented. 

"I'm starting to like ya, baldie." Rocket told Nebula. "If you need an improvement in any of your mechanical bits, you know where I am."

Gamora went to Peter, who still seemed quite out of sorts, even after all the smoke was gone. 

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, sure. That smoke bomb thing just caught me a bit by surprise. But I'm fine. I always am." He smiled, but Gamora could see through it. 

He wasn't always ok and she knew this for a fact. He tried to hold it together and she didn't know why: because of some strange masculine pride, because he didn't want to burden them with his issues... The thing was, he bottled up everything inside and it was getting harder to believe it when he said he was fine. So Gamora decided to keep an eye out for him, just in case. 

Bad thing was, they were in an unknown planet, with an unknown number of people who wanted them out and still needed to retrieve the stolen artifacts they'd been hired to get back. 

The mission went relatively smoothly with the combined force and skill Gamora and Nebula to clear the way and Rocket and Groot to the place to get to the place where the trinket they were supposed to get was. 

There were some unexpected complications like a complicated alarm system and some mechanic traps, but in the end they managed to get what they were supposed to and out of the building relatively unscathed. But through the whole thing Peter had been uncharacteristically quiet and kind of... off. Shaky. He'd even been caught swaying a couple of times. 

Something was not all right and they needed to get him to the ship as soon as possible to find what was going with Peter, the sooner the better. If they left it alone for some time it would probably only get worse. 

There was only one teeny tiny problem when they went back to where they had left the ship it wasn't there, and they had no clue as to where they might have been. No marks, no traces, nothing to show that it had been there in the first place. Why couldn't things go right for once?

To make things worse, Peter let out a small whimper and after some uneven breaths his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, unconscious. Luckily, Gamora and Groot were there to hold him, make sure that he didn't fall and hurt himself any further. 

Now they were stranded in a hostile planet, one of their team mates was sick and they had no way of getting out of there. The situation was certainly not the best, but they had gotten out of worse situations. They started thinking of strategies, how to find the ship, how to best get out of there. 

Peter came to only a couple of minutes later insisting that he was fine and that he could walk and do the same things as the others, that he could keep up. 

Sometimes he felt bad about the team, felt he was keeping them behind. Gamora and Nebula had been raised to be the most fearsome weapons of the universe, Drax and Groot both had super human strength and Rocket was really smart and could fit into small spaces. But what about him, what good was he?

His strength was his ability to get out of bad situations, his charisma. And anyone could handle as well as he, that was not a rare skill, but stunts like the fake dance off were something only he did. Being unexpectedly smart was his thing. But after the whole debacle with Ego and Yondu he was bit off his game, not in top shape. He kept trying to be his best, the legendary star lord that he used to be. He'd been through too much in too little time, and it had taken its toll. 

Like that pink smoke that seemed to have affected him, but not the others. Why? Was he weaker than the rest? The truth was, he felt dizzy and there was a strange tingling on his limbs ever since the smoke bomb. Even walking had become a gruesome challenge and pretending that he was fine was taking all the strength he had left. 

But people had noticed, and were not believing his I'm fines anymore. 

After a couple of incidents in which Peter had been hurt and none of them had known, Gamora and Groot had both decided to take a closer look on their Terran, look for signs of illness, of hurt, before it got too bad. They didn't exactly know why he did it although they had their theories, but the fact was that he wasn't very forthcoming. And they had noticed that something was off, but couldn't tell if it was one of his bad days, when he'd remember his mom or Yondu or something and just be a bit sadder than usual for the rest of the day or if this was something else. 

And then he started swaying and they noticed that there was something blue that shouldn't be there on his neck and arms and saw that whatever had been in that smoke bomb had affected him. And then he started breathing funny and just kinda collapsed after so long trying to hold himself together and they realised they were in trouble. Again. But because this was not the first time, Gamora already had a plan more or less thought out.

"I'll stay with him, take him somewhere safe. Groot and Rocket, you try to find out what was in that pink smoke thing, if there's an antidote. Nebula, could you try to bring us some medical supplies? An actual medic would be great, too, but no killing anyone!"

"But I can threaten, right?"

"Sure. Just hurry. And please, while you're at it, I want all of you to look for the ship."

And so she was left with a shaky, wheezing Peter that was looking worse every minute, and just hoping the others would be lucky and act quick. It killed her not to be part of the helping, of the solution, but Peter couldn't be left alone, and she knew that he wanted her to stay the most. And so she stayed, wondering why all those bad things had to happen to poor Peter, while so many bad people went through life doing evil and got out of everything unscathed. There really was no justice in the universe. 

"I'm sorry." Peter said, looking into Gamora's dark eyes, which kept going back and forth. 

"What are you sorry for?"

"That you are stuck with me. That I am always affected by these things."

Gamora lightly caressed her friend's too pale cheek, hoping that would be comforting. 

"You don't need to feel bad about that. We all have our weaknesses and our strong points. Think of Nebula, for example, she is super strong, never gets affected by poisons or things like that. But she's also extremely violent, and probably has forgotten how to genuine smile and be happy. I would rather have you, with your songs and your dancing, even if you get sick from time to time."

"That's nice. But still, I feel bad that I'm not keeping up with everyone else."

"Well, stop feeling bad, Peter! You've held an Infinity Stone in your hand, you've seen the whole universe with those eyes, you have faced a god! You are keeping up with us, in fact, you've been ahead. So what if you get ill a couple of times? That doesn't make you weak, it makes you...."

"Human?"

"Maybe. But no less important to any of us. So stop hiding these things and trust that we will be there for you, without judgement. Because we will."

"Thanks Gamora."

"You don't need to thank me, you just need to rest until help arrives, ok?" 

But help wasn't arriving any time soon. In the next hours Peter got even paler and the mysterious blue bits spread through all his arms into his hands from his neck into his chest. His breathing became more labored and slow, and he seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes open. His heart was slower, too, probably because of the poison. At this rate, he would have stopped breathing by the time the others got here. 

Gamora wanted to do something more, but didn't know what. There was nothing that would help near, and she couldn't just drag Peter's decaying body with her as she searched for something. No, the best chance Peter had were the others, and they would come here to find them, so she had to stay put. But was the wait was agony, and she kept looking up, hoping to see a sign of the others, as Peter got worse and worse. 

She was holding his cold hand, offering her warmth, making her presence known. Still, it was tough. Seeing Peter decay like that, in front of her eyes, it just... it hurt. Gamora wanted to after everything in all the galaxies that had ever hurt him, he who had endured so much, he with his bright blue eyes that were fighting to stay open, and make them pay. 

And just as she was losing hope, a couple of tears falling through his cheeks as the realisation hit that help could arrive too late, there was a noise and their ship appeared finally, hovering over them, with Groot and Rocket smiling. 

And inside was Nebula too, with a blue vial. 

"This is what he needs. Please, don't ask how I got it."

And Gamora decided that she would rather not know, because why ruin a good thing? All in all, it was a good end of the day, a good mission. They got what they needed and in the end, shown that they could got work as a team and be there for each other if needed. Their priorities were good. 

That night, Peter remembered the touch of Gamora's hand in his, and decided that maybe she was right, maybe he didn't have to be so hard on himself all the time. Maybe he could allow himself to be sad, or tired, or ill every once in a while. Allow himself to be... human.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Bluejay141519

During his not so long but very eventful life, Peter had sustained numerous blows (that is to say: a whole big lot of 'em). When he younger he was a pretty lively kid, the kind that went on make believe adventures and came back with bloody knuckles and skinned knees. He also landed on his head a couple of times, but his mother just kissed his boo boos and told him to be more careful next time. 

Then came his life with the ravagers, which was by no means an easy or peaceful life. He had to do a lot of things, run errands and fit in tight spaces, and this was not without his good share of hard falls, running into ships or simply being shot or hit in the head to be stopped. And it would have been much worse if he hadn't his mask, but well, even that could be too weak a protection sometimes. 

Because, man, did Peter get hurt often. 

During his time with the Guardians he'd been hurt pretty and pretty badly too. Gamora thought he was just too reckless, Drax thought he was not qquick and strong enough and he had semi-convinced himself that he did it to protect others from harm because that was just how chivalrous and awesome he was. Whatever the reasons, truth was that he thrown around a lot and that he wasn't getting any younger, or any less hurt. 

Some things took a longer while now, some joints screamed at the abuse while he was doing heroics and some injuries took longer too heal. Like most living bodies, his had a set of limits, an amount of abuse it could endure before having serious consequences. And he was no different, his head was no different. Of course, one of those he would probably had to see some doctor or something, in case there was something that needed to be treated and he should probably know that at some point all of that would end badly. 

But just... never that time. He could take one more, one more fall, one more concussion, one more blunt force trauma. 

There was a strange pride in him, connected to never admitting when he was hurt or sick. He wanted to be the knight in shining armor, he wanted to be strong and resilient and always ready to fight and help. Peter took pride on it, on his strength and his reliance and it was probably a bit stupid but he'd already been too emotionally vulnerable in front of the team, his physical strength was his safe place and he hid there, no matter the blows and the injuries he got.  
(Also, Gamora and Nebula never complained, so why would he? It would be like admitting that they were better, which they were, but Peter didn't want to admit it to himself)

But eventually came the day in which things went south. He got hit in the head with some metal pipe and was knocked out. He didn't even have time to realise what was going and fell to the floor on a dead faint, dropping his weapons, no time to even ask for help. The dude that got him just took his weapons and left him there, unconscious on the floor, which was how Gamora found him. 

She was getting a bit tired of this near death experiences with him. Every time she tried to put some distance, to tell herself it was better if they just colleagues, he would get hurt and remind her how much he meant to her, how much she cared and close to him she really was. He was an idiot, but she couldn't help her feelings, so she tried to ignore how she felt and just bring Peter back from the land of the dead. 

He woke up some time later to Gamora shaking him with vigor and a worried expression in her eyes. His head was pounding, badly, and the whole world was kind of swimming, but he convinced Gamora that he was ok, that this was nothing, and they continued on their job as normal. Honestly, he wasn't trying to deceive her, he really thought he was ok. 

They all did, and they just joked at how easily knockout-able Quill and how he fainted with everything. Peter joked around with them, it was innocent fooling around. It hadn't been the first time he got hit in the head, it wouldn't be the last, there had been nothing special about this one. 

So they went back to the ship, said hi to Kraglin who was travelling with them and started to make their way back to Nova Prime to get paid. The usual normal every day thing. Nothing to report. They stopped to get some gas and some of them left the ship, others stayed, like Quill.

Peter was feeling a bit fuzzy, though, a bit out-of-sort, a bit... well, for a lack of a better word spaced out. He felt as if he were watching his hands from a distance, even if he knew that technically he was still in his body and then he fell and he could no longer control his body.  
\-----  
Nebula had been letting that raccoon tinker a bit her bionic part, because that damned animal had a talent for making her hurt less and get more power in each of her modified parts. The thing, (Rocket, he told you to call it Rocket) was also in awe of all of her, which was both nice and uncommon, so, until he screwed something up, she was letting him do. 

Shortly after they stopped and some of them got out they heard a loud noise, like something very heavy dropping to the floor and they went to investigate, weapons at the ready. But what they saw shook them more than any intruder could have.

It was Quill, writhing on the floor, moving uncontrollably, with his eyes on the back of his head and his mouth full of white, frothy, saliva. Having never seen a seizure before, never so scary so close, clearly both Rocket and Gamora. What was happening to Quill? Why? What should they do? Could they do something to help? Had he been poisoned while left alone? What was going on?

"What do we do?" Rocket shouted, not sure if he should go near Quill or not. What if he was possessed by something.

"How can I know?" Nebula shouted back, feeling clueless and lost and, let's face it, semi-scared... So, in a typical little sister move she called for backup in her comm. "Gamora, get the hell back here, Quill is dying!"

In the mean time, excruciatingly long seconds passed and Quill kept convulsing and they still didn't know what to do. The others had been really close and after receiving Nebula's ominous and clearly panicked message they ran back and got back in under a minute. And then they got scared. 

"I AM GROOT!!!"

"Peter, no...!"

"Why... why is he moving like that?"

Groot, Gamora and Drax were frozen in place, not understanding and afraid for their friend. 

But Kraglin knew, thankfully. 

"Give him room to breathe!" he ordered "And can someone get me a pillow or a cushion?"

Nebula ran to get the cushion, happy to have an excuse to not see Quill like that an happy to be able to do something useful to ease his pain after watching him writhing for too long. She was mostly stone, mostly, and she didn't consider Peter a friend (yet) but she had to admit, she didn't want him to die, either. 

When the convulsions receded a bit, Kraglin gently and softly put Peter on his side, put the pillow under his head and made sure he was breathing. His breath still were a bit strange, but he was indeed breathing, hadn't choked in saliva or vomit or anything, which was good enough. Good enough. When the attack had completely passed they would have to check him for any injuries he could have made while seizing, but still. The worst seemed to have passed. 

"What happened? What was that?" Gamora asked, when all passed. Her hands were still shaking. 

"It's called a seizure. It's something that happens to humans when they have.. problems in the brain. Did he get hit in the head?"

"Yes, this morning."

"That's probably what caused it."

"And will it happen again?" Drax asked. Part of it was concern and part was not wanting to be close to Quill's flailing long limbs when it happened again. 

"I don't know."  
"How did you know what it was, anyways?" Nebula asked.

"I... wanted to get Peter something after he got some.... well, some items for a hard to reach planet, and I found this book, about like human illnesses and it had gross pictures and everything, but he left before I could give it to him, so I read it."

"You read it." The blue girl said, disbelief in her voice. 

"Recently. I wanted... to sound.... smarter."

Gratefully for Kraglin, Peter opened his eyes before he had to explain why he was trying to sound smarter, and so all the attention shifted to him.

"What... happened?" 

All the team was looking down on him, as if his face was the best thing in the world.  
"You're back!" Rocket said. "How are you feeling?"  
"Fuzzy..." Peter replied, trying to remember why he was on the floor.

"You had a.... seizun?"

"I AM GROOT"

"Seizure, sorry."

"We'll need to get you to medics, to see if it can happen again." Gamora said, and helped Peter up, putting one arm under one of his shoulders. On the other shoulders was surprisingly enough, her sister. 

"I'm not saying I like any of you stupid friends." Nebula said immediately."But I would rather if they didn't die."

Peter was still a bit fuzzy in the head, but appreciated the sentiment. This was the kind of affection he was used to, after a life with Ravagers. 

"So don't die, Quill."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n."

"That goes from all of us." Gamora added. "And tell us when you're not feeling good, ok? No hiding, no stupid pride."

"Ok." Came the small voice, as the sisters lay him down on his bed.

"Is that a promise?"

"Promise."

"You will not scare us again like that?"

"I'll do my best."

Not ideal, but good enough. 

Like having him all damaged in his bed. Not ideal, but he was alive and on the mend. It was good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Feedback is life and is incredibly appreciated, please do tell me what you thought if you liked! :)


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